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When I feel lonely I search myself and find little to amend this guilt for being the one to smell hash browns when the whole world is smelling cement; it is this shame I swallow away from you. There are big things to be done as the sky digests itself and while somebody purposes chicken and waffle flavoured chips, in a white lab alone. In fifty years my love for you will be a circle of egg and bacon flavoured pizza. When love is no longer love and just another thing we iterate, when the world is already very full of junk food flavoured to taste like other junk food. What does a potato taste like now? It has been such a long time for us and their advice is, just brush your teeth to confuse the hunger. The fruit rots around us, the bounty harvested— we give the grass one last look and shrug. Practicing gratitude is mixing oil into water persistently and knowing they’ll never become one. You say the sky might flesh itself out again, like the chunk out of a thigh; like shaking out a glove, it rights itself.

Mall Poem

I always had the intention to make you dinner, to have your muscles contract in new ways, to stamp upon you first time for something; to make you firm up like concrete was never enough. I was longing to be the oak that grew amongst the shopping centre, hell, to be the sad oak that parents designate as meeting place, to be the only oak whose friends are travertine, whose companions are dirty fountains children pierce with jelly bean fingers, who feels unnerved by this devotion, 'only tree in the mall,' to have my rough skin separate me from the reliability of halogen. I am sorry that I wanted to be oak and not gold veined marble; we are limited only by our imagination and I never once thought 'diamond.'